THE VASTNESS
What feels overwhelming up close often changes when you stand beside something truly vast.
Pismo Beach. 2018. Peaches walked toward the shoreline like she belonged there — small frame, calm stride, the whole Pacific in front of her. I lifted the camera and let her keep walking.
I realized how small she was.
And how small I was too.
The ocean never argues.
It just arrives.
And puts everything else in its place.
DEDICATION
To the Holy Spirit — who returns old moments at the exact hour they are needed.
To Marty — faithful through every wave, every season, every storm that ever broke over us.
To Peaches — who brought joy in life, and still brings it in memory.
To the reader — may something here help you breathe deeper and see further.
SCRIPTURE
“Be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” — James 1:19–20 (NKJV)
THE HOOK
There were years I confused speed with strength.
Fix it fast. Answer quick. Win the point. Control the room.
If a customer walked in heated, I joined the heat.
If an employee was upset, I matched the volume.
If a problem got loud, I got louder.
Sometimes I made good decisions inside that storm.
More often, I paid for them later.
THE STORY
Years after, I sat in a deposition tied to a lawsuit with enormous consequences.
Twelve attorneys.
Sixteen hours.
Pressure from every direction.
But by then, life had taught me a different rhythm.
Pause.
Wait.
Listen.
Pause again.
Then respond.
Only answer the question.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
That night my attorney told me it was one of the most controlled depositions he had ever witnessed.
But the calm didn’t come from a courtroom.
It came from the storms that came before it.
THE MOMENT
Years later, on a beach in Pismo, I watched my Sweet Peaches walk toward an enormous ocean.
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t perform. She just walked — like the water had been there waiting for her.
And standing behind the camera, something quiet shifted in me.
The ocean wasn’t shouting.
It wasn’t scolding.
It wasn’t demanding anything.
It was simply… vast.
And every loud thing I had carried in suddenly looked smaller than it had any right to be.
Most things in front of us only look huge
because they are all we are looking at.
THE TURN
The ocean doesn’t ask to be heard.
It just arrives. Wave after wave. Current after current. Crash after crash.
And somehow… it brings peace.
There is power in what does not need to announce itself.
I have always been drawn to grounded people — not because of their age, but because of their settledness. They had lived through enough weather to stop shaking with every wind. Even when I disagreed with them, I respected where they had landed.
Some convictions are not inherited.
They are earned.
THE DRIFT
There is a voice that wants to keep you reactive.
Win this. Prove it. Defend yourself. Be louder. Be first.
That voice sounds strong.
It isn’t.
Real strength doesn’t need urgency. It can wait. It can listen. It can stay kind under pressure. It can stand firm without becoming hard.
I know.
Because I rushed it.
For years.
THE REFLECTION
One of the greatest things God ever showed me came as three words.
Uncover. Discover. Discard.
Uncover the wounds — the ones that should never have happened to a child, the ones I carried into trust and conflict and identity without knowing I was carrying them.
Discover how much of my adult life was still being governed by old injuries.
The people were long gone.
But I was still carrying them.
Then came the hardest part.
Discard.
Lay it down at the cross. Release what no longer served me, others, or Jesus.
Understanding another person’s brokenness does not excuse what they did. But it can help you release what they left behind.
The light on my path grew brighter when bitterness no longer walked beside me.
When Marty first brought me to Bakersfield, she took me to meet a woman named Dorothy in hospice. Advanced MS. Words came hard. Movement came harder. But I spoke to her as if nothing important had been lost — because nothing important had. She would look at me with bright eyes, hold my hand, squeeze hard. And love came through.
Sometimes I left in tears.
Dorothy taught me what the ocean teaches.
Not all listening uses ears.
Many people don’t need answers first. They need to be seen.
Fight for second place.
When two people fight for first, both lose. Especially in marriage. Most arguments are not about dishes or schedules or money. They are about unseen needs, unmet expectations, joy that quietly got stolen.
Seek to understand before seeking to be understood.
That one shift can save years.
Sometimes the greatest victory is moving toward each other instead of away.
When I stood beside the ocean that day, I did not feel smaller in a bad way.
I felt freer.
Not every story is mine. Not every battle is worth fighting. Not every wave requires response.
Some thoughts need to crash.
Lose force.
Turn to foam.
And return where they came from.
Peaches is gone now. I miss her. But some souls keep giving long after they leave. She filled my joy in real time. Now she fills it in memory.
Even after every wave that has come since that day on the sand —
Joy still knows where to find me.
I wasn’t born to win every battle. I was born to endure the journey and receive God’s promise.
WALKAWAY LINE
The ocean never told me I was nothing — it reminded me I wasn’t everything.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
What feels enormous right now… might only need a wider horizon.
MY PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the vast things that restore proportion.
Thank You for the waves that calm us, the trials that teach us, the people who quietly ground us.
Teach me to pause before reacting.
To listen before speaking.
To understand before defending.
To release what no longer belongs in my hands.
And when life feels too large —
lift my eyes higher.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
ABOUT G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender. His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady. Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~
Marti… what a powerful reflection.
You took the image deeper than sand and time alone. You brought it back to the One who stands above both.
The grains may move through the apex of time, space, and matter… but God remains unchanged.
Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come.
He is not subject to the hourglass.
He is the Author of it.
He is Alpha and Omega—before the first grain fell, and after the last one rests.
What comfort to know that while our days are measured, His presence is eternal… and every passing grain moves us closer to fulfilled promise.
Beautiful insight. Deeply anchored truth.
G~
This spark hit me hard. It’s the words I have been striving for recently when things do seem big and overwhelming. This too will pass, and you can still feel joy in the midst of struggle. Give it to God and keep moving forward. The only time the dogs I keep have challenges is when they don’t have enough space. Movement is your friend, moving with intention gives us clarity. My brothers words echo every day, do it with intention. Love